Parents Of Tough Teens Say Help Often Too Late

The 12-year-old Hollywood boy lit fires in alleys, mooned customers at a local car dealership and threw rocks at people.

The 14-year-old Oakland Park girl threatened to kill her mother, terrorized her siblings and destroyed her parents' home on numerous occasions.

The 16-year-old Pembroke Pines teen has three domestic violence charges against him, including striking his stepsister in the face with a baseball bat and choking his mother until she nearly blacked out.

The parents of these dangerous children all reached out to community programs for support, but say they didn't get enough in return to keep their families safe. Instead, they've taken the unofficial advice of police officers, doctors and social workers who told them, `You want help? Get your kid arrested.'

That's exactly what the parents of Anthony Dumas, 15, say they were told just weeks before their son looped a belt into a noose and hanged himself at a Broward crisis shelter for troubled teens. Lippman Family Center in Oakland Park houses runaways and unruly children ordered there by a judge. Rather than cut him down after the mid-June hanging, staff at Lippman reportedly took Polaroid photographs of the teen. Paramedics were able to revive him, but he remains in a coma at Broward General Medical Center. Multiple law enforcement and state agencies are investigating the incident.

The teen's near-death has angered some South Florida parents, who say the tragedy points to the extreme measures parents are forced to take when no one helps them halt their children's progression from disobedience to violence.

"It could have been my kid, it could have been my kid very easily," said Lois Sheets, 41, of Hollywood. "They just give you another phone number, and you go into circles."

Those who provide services to children and families cringe when they hear parents say entangling their child in the court system is the only thing that works.

"I certainly don't subscribe to getting your child arrested to get help," said George Hinchliffe, the state Department of Juvenile Justice's assistant secretary for programming and planning. "In each community, there's a wide variety of services that are available."

State law insists troubled children receive care in the least-restrictive environment possible, say providers of children's services. That means families should try in-home counseling, parenting classes and even unlocked shelters like Lippman in Broward and Safe Harbor in Palm Beach County before resorting to a locked, residential program.

But parents say following standard care practices takes too long and exposes the child and family to danger.

"The only other thing that is for my son is boot camp," said Sheets, whose 12-year-old blatantly disrespects adults, has punched his father and threatened neighbors. "And the only way to get him there is if it's ordered by a judge or I pay $125 a day for a minimum of six months."

Begging for help

Sheets' son has been to the Lippman shelter numerous times, often running away and returning at will. He sees therapists for his behavior problems. He also goes to a special school for emotionally disturbed children. So far, none of it has halted his plunge from a hyperactive, artistic child to a troublemaker headed for court.

His mother, who is terrified her son's aggressive behavior will someday get him hurt or killed, doesn't know where else to turn.

"I know how that feels when you get the runaround," she said, referring to what Dumas' parents say happened to them.

So does Maria Detwiler and Kelli Pasqualetti.

They too have watched their children's behavior deteriorate. They too have gotten fragments of family counseling -- 12 weeks from this program, eight weeks from that one. They too eventually called police for protection and then visited their children in hospital psychiatric wards, after police involuntarily committed them for threatening to harm themselves or others.

For some, like Detwiler, 34, of Pembroke Pines, relief finally came in the form of Brown Schools, a $236-a-day locked residential treatment facility in Broward.

It took years of fighting and, in the end, an arm wrestle between the departments of Juvenile Justice and Children & Families over who would pay, Detwiler said. It took recommendations from mental health professionals, dogged persistence of a case manager and calls to the governor's office.

Ultimately, it took an arrest and a permanent black mark on her 16-year-old son's record.

"I can't believe it," Detwiler said. "He's not even the same kid ... I really didn't know until he started getting better at Brown Schools that he's not a bad kid, he's a sick kid."

The Juvenile Justice route can backfire, however.

Going to court, getting sent to the Lippman shelter and being locked up in Broward's Juvenile Detention Center only empowered Kelli Pasqualetti's 14-year-old daughter.